When they reached the door of the Dancing Dove, she paused. She wanted to get inside, no doubt about that – not only were there her proper clothes inside, but she'd been getting looks from random people all the way back. Not to mention, she thought with some heat, from Mr. Cooper beside me.

She shot him a look. He gave her a cocky grin – it was at least nice to see that again. She'd been worried that after what she revealed to him yesterday that they'd no longer be close, but it appeared that he'd worked through it, or at least she hoped he had. She supposed that being paraded by the King of Thieves in a ridiculous outfit – she refused to consider it a dress; it was too, well, small to be considered a dress, she thought – through the streets of Corus was shaming enough for her. Perhaps it would square the balance, so to speak. Besides, she did want to get back to the Dancing Dove as soon as she could, re-establish whatever kind of friendship she had shared with George there, rather than at his mothers house.

Not that there was really anything wrong with his mother. Truth be told, she enjoyed the woman's company – despite her obstinate, interfering nature. Actually, Alanna thought with a grin, that's probably what she liked most about the other woman. True, she had schemed to get Alanna in this outrageous costume, walking about in the middle of the day, no less; but she had, from George's account, practically saved her life.

"So," George asked, "You going in, lass? Or do you want t' stay out here a while longer?" he flashed his teeth in a grin, "Give a bit more o' a show."

Her cheeks flushed, and she jabbed her friend in the ribs. "Get inside, George." She hoped that she could hide herself behind his taller body; well, it used to be taller. The heeled boots she wore increased her height by a great deal, she was quite enamoured with those, actually. "And I want to see you moving towards the stairs as soon as you get in, ok?"

"Aye lass," he said, "Though I dun see what you're so worried about."

"I'm not worried," she hissed, "I'd just rather they don't see me like this."

"An' why would you bereft them o' such a wonderful sight, darlin'?"

She glared at him, though she was somewhat bemused by the 'darling' remark. "Just get inside, Cooper. And then you'd better get Nelly to get some ice out for you. You're going to need it when I'm done with you."

He grinned again, and opened the doors widely. She grabbed a hold of his coat, and slinked in after him, crouching down low as she went. Various people called out to him, and George took great delight in spending longer than was necessary in greeting them in return. She kicked the backs of his leg's when he was taking to long, and eventually people began to notice her.

"Oi, George!" came the cry from one man, a reed thin sort known as Marek, "Who'you got there?"

"Oh, just a friend, Marek." George replied, solemnly. "Though I think she might be 'alf chicken, or something."

Alanna scowled from behind his back, pinching his rump in anger. George yelped, and the room roared with laughted.

"Chicken's got a bite, though, eh George!?" Marek yelled through his mirth. She noticed Riven in the corner, coming in from the kitchen.

"'Ey George!" he yelled when he saw the man. George turned, and Alanna cursed. She tried to get behind him again, but George just grabbed her, keeping her where she was. She could get out, but she'd have attracted attention to herself. "'Ow's 'lanna?"

George smiled, and she knew he was going to do something. Something that he'd regret, she added to herself.

"Take a look f'yourself, Riven!" and he pulled her in front of him. She squawked in protest, but she couldn't keep her balance well enough in the heeled boots to prevent him from moving her about easily. She shut her eyes, expecting the room to burst into laughter. She had dreaded just such a moment, for her friends here to see her in another of her 'guises'. Alanna the woman, rather than just Alanna the Shang. Or even just Alanna, the girl in breeches who talked with them all, laughing at their crude jokes and threatening them with violence.

Instead of laughter, however, the only sounds she could hear were shocked gasps. Or mutterings, or derivations of 'Sweet Mithros!'

She cracked an eye open, and noticed that most everyone in the room was gaping at her. George was smiling, and not one of them was laughing. Riven took a step towards her.

"'lanna?" he asked, "Is that you?"

She looked at him, mouth opening and closing. She couldn't handle everyone staring at her like this. It was strange, she was so prepared for them to laugh at her that she couldn't handle this; this shocked silence. This look of awe on many of the faces she saw frightened her; it was as if they'd never seen her before. Oh why couldn't anyone accept the entirety of what she was!? Why was she so frightened of letting anyone see all of her, rather than just layers?

"I-I-I…" she stuttered, her mind seemingly incapable of forming words. All of a sudden, she just had to be out of there, and taking in a great gasp of air, hitched up her skirts and ran up the stairs, slamming the door as she went.

She threw herself down on the bed, hot tears spearing her eyes. She wouldn't cry, no she wouldn't. Not over this, not over a dress, for the Goddesses sake! She turned onto her back, wiping her eyes with the backs of her hands. She noticed that the facepaint that Eleni had applied to her face came away on her hand, much to her disgust. She picked up a corner of the sheet, and wiped the rest of her face with it, removing most of the oily material. Lying back on her bed, she blew her hair out of her face. Eleni had 'styled' her hair, too, coiling it around her head slightly. She liked the look of it, actually. Purely from a combat perspective, though! It kept the strands out of her face. She scrunched up her face – who was she kidding?

She looked down at herself, frowning at the overly feminine dress. The open bodice that dipped down much too far, displaying the tops of her breasts. The pale lace at the sides of the hem, the elegant sleeves of the dress. The material was probably wool, not something like silk, but it still felt very smooth compared to the itchy woolen breeches and tunics she always wore. It wasn't what a Lady would consider a 'good' dress, she imagined, but it was the most female item of clothing she had worn in almost a decade.

As she looked down, she noticed her pendant sparkling in the low light. She reached down, pulling the chain so it slipped out of the dress, holding the gem between her fingers. Thom had accepted her, had accepted the entirety of her. So it could be done, she realised, just that she'd not met anyone besides Thom who did so. Not all of her, only the parts they wanted to see. She wondered what Thom was like when he was here, in Corus. Did he find it as troubling as she? She suddenly remembered her thought about George possibly knowing her brother, she'd have to follow up on that. Did he talk to anyone else when he was here? George's 'noble friend' Johnny had talked to him, she again remembered – she'd have to talk to him as well.

She sighed. She should focus on Thom, that was the reason she came here in the first place, wasn't it? No, not strictly – she remembered what she had thought to herself when she had named Swift; that it was the first step towards a new identity, a combined identity. Which, she realised sadly, led her back to where she was now.

"Alanna?" George's voice sounded from the door. "You in there?"

"Go away!" she shouted. She didn't want to talk to anyone at the moment, just wanted to lie here.

She heard him sigh, before he cracked open the door. He slid through, closing it behind him again. Rolling her eyes, she raised herself to a sitting position on the side of the bed. He stood with his back leaning on the closed door, looking at her.

"What do you want, George?"

He pursed his lips. "I want t'know why you ran out like that."

She put on her best 'upper class' voice; "Oh, it was these boots! They were so constrictive, I felt like my feet were on fire! I simply had to get off them!" He just cocked his head, his serious gaze never leaving hers. She sighed, "I don't know, George. Can you just drop it?"

"No, lass." He murmured, "I think you do know."

"You think I'm lying to you." She said, realizing what George was getting at. She stood, stepping towards him.

"Well, aren't you?" he said, disbelievingly, crossing his arms.

"No," she said, slowly. "I'm just not telling you."

"Bloody…! Alanna! What's the difference?"

Sighing, she shook her head. "Never mind, George. It's not something I want to talk about."

"Why not?"

"Because it's personal, Cooper." She growled, taking another step forward "And I don't want to share it." To punctuate her point, she jabbed him in the chest with her forefinger. "If you can't accept that, George Cooper, then-!" she was cut off as he suddenly enfolded her in his arms, bringing his lips to hers. His hands moved over her back, tracing the hemlines of the dress.

When he pulled away from her a moment later, she just stood there. She didn't know what to think at this moment, really. She'd spared some thoughts imagining what just such a thing would have been like in the past, true, but it was still so unexpected. It was nice, true, but nice in the sense that warm milk was nice, she found. Her eyes just looked into his for a while. She found herself unable to gauge what he might be thinking; the hazel eyes that were normally so expressive now were like stone chips. She thought her own eyes must telegraph her confusion, but after a while he moved his head back towards her own. She made a split second decision, placing a hand on his chest, stopping him.

"George," she whispered raggedly. His shoulders seemed to sag, and his head dropped.

"I'm sorry, lass." He whispered, sadly, after a beat. "I'll- I dun mean t'do that." And he turned quickly, opening the door and walking out.

"George!" she called after him, wiping her lips. "George wait!" but by the time she had thrown the door open, he was gone. She thought about following him downstairs, but then realised that there was no point. She had no idea what she would have said, anyway. She closed her eyes, slowly shaking her head. Why had she rejected him? Why did she have to reject him so absolutely? She knew that she'd hate herself in the morning for what she had just done; she still wanted him as a friend, at the very least, after all. Never mind what was beyond that.

She cursed silently, before pulling the door closed with a soft click. There was no point mulling over it now, especially with the fact that she was still slightly weak from her head injury. She reached behind her, undoing the buttons on the ridiculous dress. Shedding herself of it, she allowed the material to pool on the floor. She looked at it sadly for a while, before sitting on the bed, pulling off her heeled boots. Stowing them under the bed, she pulled on a tunic, and slipped under the covers.

***

"I can't believe he did that," she told Him, "I mean, I have thought of him like that before, I guess. But-" she trailed off. She was kneeling on a blanket in a garden somewhere. She noted, with some surprise, that she was wearing a sheer white dress, its' surface covered in a few grass stains. He lay next to her, cutting an apple with a knife.

"But what?" he asked, and she shrugged. He grinned, and pointed a slice of apple at her "You're just annoyed because he caught you off guard, aren't you?" he popped the slice in his mouth, his blue eyes sparkling as he looked at her.

"No! I-" she stopped short of finishing the sentence as she realised he was probably right. Pouting, she lay down beside him, propping her head up on her elbow. "You're too smart for your own good." She told him sullenly.
He chuckled. "I'm not smart," he offered her the slice of apple, and she opened her mouth. He rolled his eyes, feeding it to her. "I just know you, Alanna."

She snorted. "I don't even know your name," laughing at his furrowed brow – what else could she expect; she chewed on the apple. "Oh don't worry," she told him, "I just-" she cut off as the piece of apple lodged in her throat. She began coughing uncontrollably, her bodies instinctive reaction to anything blocking her airway. The coppery tang of blood in her mouth was her first sign that something was seriously wrong, something that was firmly established when her next hacking cough sent a sharp pain spreading through her body. The pain subsided in an instant, though it remained in a hot ring around her throat. She raised her hands, and realised that a wide slash had been made into the skin, deep red blood flowing from the wound over her fingers. It ran down her neck in great rivulets, staining the front of her dress a deep pink, the material sticking to her chest

"Mithros! Alanna!" He had begun clapping her on the back once she began to choke, but he rocked back in shock as her throat was somehow suddenly slit. "Alanna!"

She looked on, silently, as his face became paler and paler. She tried to call out to him, but all that emerged was a wet gurgle, accompanied by more of the viscous fluid falling from the slash. Feeling her life drain out of her, she collapsed on the blanket in heap.

"Alanna!" he cried, "Alanna!" She tried to reach out to him with blood-covered arms, but she was too weak to raise them. "No!"

"No!"

She shot up in her bed, panting as she sat. Reaching wary hands to her throat, her fingers found unblemished skin. She exhaled loudly, her mind reeling with what had just occured. The dream was, as always, so vivid; but…what had happened? The dreams had been corrupted, or something, or was this just a one-off event? She hoped so, though she knew she'd never be able to live through one of the dreams again without the sense of horror she had felt in this one. Why did it happen though? What was the significance of a slit throat, if any?

She sighed, and shook her head. Not knowing why she had begun to have the dreams in the first place meant she had no idea of why there were differences in the latest one. She was still feeling the after affects of what had happened with George earlier, too. Her emotions felt utterly drained. Hot tears stung her eyes, and she realised she was trembling. The dream had just been so disturbing; she didn't know how to cope. She curled up in her bed, crying to herself till she fell into a dreamless slumber of exhaustion, the day had been just far too strenuous for even she.

***

It was a few days later, lying in her bed in the minutes before dawn, that she realised things had fallen apart for her entirely.

George had been avoiding her completely, and she had been forced to leave messages with Riven or his mother if she wanted to discuss something with him at all. Her requests to talk to him had been met with a steadfast refusal, though not in any offensive manner. George was always 'too busy', or was 'seeing to matters'. She was desperate to talk to him; she still didn't know what she wanted for them, of course, but she knew that this – this avoidance of each other – was not going to be good for either of them. At the least, she reminded herself, she wanted to remain friends with the man. And she still hadn't fully thought over what being more than just friends would mean for her, for them, so she hadn't ruled that out. Of course, she had no idea how the man himself felt on the matter, since he would barely even glance in her direction.

The dreams seemed to have been irrevocably changed, too. Each night was no longer greeted with a smile, but a grimace. They were now horrific visions of what had once been her sanctuary, seeing herself beaten or maimed every night. She had begun to work herself to exhaustion, hoping not to dream. She had even visited Eleni, asking the woman if she knew any herbs which could prevent dreams. The old woman had been curt to her, far colder than she had been the other day, and had told her no such herb existed. Alanna remembered the growing sense of despair that had settled upon her that day, and realised that it had not eased in the slightest.

The only point of brightness she had experienced was when Arune entered the Dove one day, after hearing of her recovery. He had apologized profusely for what he had considered his slip up, but she had waved such apologies aside. He'd still been penitent, but she had convinced him that she thought nothing of it, and so neither should he. After a while, he began to spar with her again, and just yesterday had finally let himself go with her, not holding back in fear of 'his slip' happening again. He'd also mentioned once or twice that he was staying in the palace, and that he should join him there – at least for a visit, if not to stay - to show 'the upstart knights' just how skilled a Shang was. She'd rebuffed him the first time he brought it up, saying that she was sure that he was enough Shang for the both of them, but it began to look a more and more pleasant idea. Especially since George was being so cold to her; the Dove was becoming less of a happy place for her. Sighing, she thanked whatever God or Goddess had sent Arune into the Dove that day – without his presence and being able to fall back into her training, she thought that she would have gone insane.

She pulled the pendant out of her shirt, examining it like she did almost every morning. She still hadn't been able to get any more information, although that was to be expected, what with George's avoidance of her. She had toyed with the idea of asking some of her own queries, but felt that she'd get no further than what George had already told her. She still hadn't told Arune why she was here, exactly, though he knew she was looking for something in particular, and the prospect of coming into contact with a noble who had known Thom during his stay here was another attraction of Arune's proposal.

She sighed. But still, George was her best bet to find information for her. To get in contact with 'Johnny' again, not to mention the other things she had asked of him. She needed him for that alone, if not any more. Though she was beginning to think she might need him for more as the day's dragged on and he continued to shun her.

Throwing off the covers, she pulled on some clothes, before padding outside to train in the early morning chill. Clearing her mind of thoughts of Thom, Arune and most especially of one George Cooper, she lost herself in the Shang kata's; feet and fists flying in intricate combinations and patterns. Deciding to forego sword practice for the day, she turned to retrieve the small sweat towel she had brought out with her. Standing just beside a large wooden beam, not some ten metres away, George was watching her. As he realised she had seen him, he started to slink backwards. She pounced, racing towards him, planting herself in front of him. He swiftly turned away from her, and she grabbed onto his shirt, pulling him up against the side of the building. A silence fell between them, interspersed with heavy breathing from both of them. Alanna had, after all, just been exercising, and George had been fairly roughly manhandled.

"George," she eventually began, slowly, finding herself unable to meet his eyes. "Can we talk?"

"What 'bout?" he murmured, making sure that his eyes were focused over her shoulder. "T'men I sent up t'Trebond ain't reported back, yet. Lass."

"What?" she said, confused for the moment. "That's not important right now." She replied, shaking her head. "Can we just talk about, things?"

"What d'you mean by that, lass?"

She frowned at him; he was being difficult. She decided to just be blunt. "Why are you avoiding me, George?"

He looked at her then, his hazel eyes harder than she remembered. "I ain't. I just have things t'do, I do."

"Do you have something to do now?"

"I-I-I…" he spluttered, "I'm out here to," he looked vainly about the street. "Uhh."

"George…"

"What?" he suddenly spat at her, "What about you? Aren't you avoidin' me too?"

"What?! No!"

"You are!" he said, "You're spending all day w' that Shang fellow! You could have talked t'me before now!"

"I tried!" she replied, exasperated. "You were always 'busy', remember?"

"I was busy!" he hissed at her disbelieving tone, "An' every time I wanted to speak t'you, you were out with Arune! So don't go blamin' this all on me, lass!"

Gaping at him, she realised his problem. "You're jealous, aren't you? Of Arune." She was astonished. George blushed slightly, turning his head away from her, and she realised she was right. "Believe me, I don't think about him like that!" She almost giggled. Arune was nice, but she wasn't interested in him in the slightest. "George, please. Just talk to me." She pinched her lips together, "And if it helps, then I'm sorry for avoiding you."

He exhaled softly, "Aye, lass." He conceded, "Me too." She nodded at him. The silence stretched between them again, though it was slightly less uncomfortable this time. George brought a hand up, massaging the back of his neck. He eventually spoke, "I'm sorry for what I did the other day, too."

"What, the kiss?" he nodded, blushing "George, don't be sorry about that."

He looked at her seriously, his eyes searching her own. She noticed that the sparkle had returned to them. "Aye lass?" his voice had a somewhat hopeful lilt to it.

It was her turn to blush; she hadn't intended to get quite this far, as it were. "Uh, well." She stammered out, "You shouldn't be sorry, because you were just expressing your feelings, right?" she went on before he could comment. "But I won't lie to you George, I don't know how I feel. Not about you, or my feelings for you. But I do want you as a friend, George. Whatever else happens or doesn't happen."

That didn't seem to be the answer he had been hoping for, and his brow furrowed slightly. "Well," he began, slowly, "What do you feel?"

"I don't know, George." She turned, "Confused, mostly. I mean-… I don't know what I mean. I-I felt that we could have had something, you know?"

"Could?"

She nodded, "I know that when I didn't tell you I was a noble, that it hurt you. But when you didn't accept me- that part of me, it hurt me, too."

"But I do accept it, lass." He turned her towards him, his warm hands on her shoulders. "I do." His voice pleaded with her to believe him.

"You don't, George." She told him, softly. "You told me you didn't like liars, so you should stop lying to yourself."

He just looked at her for a long moment, and she could almost hear him thinking. "Aye," he said, sadly, "You're probably right." He shrugged,  "I dun no, I was raised t'believe every noble'd turn on you t'better 'imself."

She nodded, "And it's probably a good way to look at them, George. Most of them, anyway." She clasped her hands, "But I can't deny the fact that I am noble. I may not like it about myself, especially when people try and treat me like a Lady, but it is a part of who I am." She sighed, "I don't act like one, as you know, and if I could stop being one, then I would, but-"

"Then do stop, Alanna!" he interjected, "Just be you, be Alanna! Never act like the Lady that you say you 'ate, never tell anyone that you're a Trebond! You don't 'ave t'be some Noble Shang, lass! Come and be common like the rest o' us!" he took her hands in his. The unspoken ending to his question – come be common with me – hung in the air.

"I can't, George," she told him, "I- I just can't. It-" she groaned to herself in frustration. "I don't know! I don't know what I mean! By the Goddess, why am I so confused!?"

"Life is like that, lass."

"What, confusing?" he led her to a small bench along the side of the Dove, sitting her down next to him.

"Aye." He looked at her then, an intense gaze, and she flung her arms around him.

"Oh George," she said, head on his shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry, lass?" has asked, stroking her back. She just sniffled at him, and they sat in silence for a while, her head on his shoulder. He smoothed her black locks down along her back, and she felt so at peace. Her mind wandered, wondering if she was about to make a big mistake; she could perhaps try what he had suggested, try hiding her nobility again, try and forget her past at Trebond, with Thom. She sniffled again, and his arms tightened around her. No. She couldn't do that; she couldn't pretend to be someone that she wasn't, it wouldn't be fair to her. But she did care for George, cared for him deeply, and she felt horrible for what she was about to do.

"I'm sorry, George," she whispered, "we just wouldn't work." The hand on her back stopped, and she raised her head, peering into his haunted eyes. He looked down at her, tucking some of her hair behind her ear.

"What if I told you that I was in love wit' you?"

Her eyes widened in surprise, she hadn't been expecting that. She had known that the kiss he had given her before wasn't one of pure lust, so he had feelings for her – she felt that at least through the kiss. But love?

"Are you, George? Are you really?" she asked him, gazing into his eyes. He just crushed his lips to hers, letting him feel his love for her. She returned the kiss hungrily, her loneliness and desperation meeting his love for her. Their tongues dueled with each other, and her hands roamed through his hair. His in turn threaded through her raven strands, eventually moving lower, beginning to caress her body through her woolen tunic, running over her shoulders and down her back. She moaned into his mouth, and then stiffened as she realised just what she was doing; using him.

He felt her sudden hesitation, and reluctantly pulled away from her. Her vision blurred, and she realised she was crying freely. Tears welled out of her eyes, running down her cheeks. He wiped them away with his thumbs, but he knew what they meant. She was peering into his eyes when his heart broke.

"Aye lass," he told her, his voice full of emotion. "I understand."

"I'm sorry, George," she whispered again. "I'm sorry." She put a hand on his thigh.

He nodded. "Will-" he stopped for a moment, clenching his eyes shut. "Will you be movin' out o' the Dove?" he asked.

"What would you like me to do?"

He exhaled under his breath. He sat for a while, head facing forward. Eventually, he looked down, and placed his hand on hers; entwining their fingers, "Stay, please." She smiled, slightly. "I'd still like t'be friends, aye?" she nodded, giving his hand a squeeze.

"I do care about you, George. Just-"

"Just not enough, I understand." He looked at her again, his eyes red "I think I'd like t'be alone for a while, lass."

She understood, and rose from the bench. He held onto her hand for a while, until he slowly pried his fingers away from her own. His face betrayed no emotion as they finally slid free, but she knew that he was hurting. She left him on the bench, as she returned to her room. She threw herself onto her bed, and let the tears flow.